The Paper Bag
by Oboebyrd
Summary: Stories inspired by Sky-fire's Plotbunnies. Each story is a seperate plot-bunny.
1. Your Just Desserts

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The Paper Bag

Your Just Desserts

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. Nor do I own Plot bunnies, which belong solely to SkyFire. She's funny. But don't try to take her plot bunnies without telling her. That's bad. It's stealing. And plot bunnies bite very hard.

Today's Plot bunny:

Saruman argues with the ghost of a lusty dragon that likes eating lunch in Helm's Deep.

Who could resist?

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Saruman waltzed through Helm's Deep. The wind was whistling happily, the sun was shining gaily, and his tie-dyed robes fluttered happily in the breeze, giving a few passerbys a better look than they would have necessarily liked.

All in all, Saruman was pretty darn pleased with himself. Sure… his staff had been broken by that ingrate Gandalf whatever-color-he-was. Sure, he had to run away from his cozy mountainside home to escape murderous Ents. Sure, he was basically destined to die within the next few months or so.

But those were all trivial things.

It was then that Saruman came upon a huge cloud of fog that hovered by a small grove of trees. Curious, the former-wizard approached it. The closer he got, the more defined the cloud became, until Saruman could see, quite clearly, that it was a dragon. Well… the ghost of a dragon at least.

The dragon looked over. "Well… hello." It purred, licking its lips. Saruman had the strangest feeling that it was not because it was hungry.

"Uh… greetings, monstrous foggy dragon." Saruman said politely.

The dragon-ghost leaned it's misty head in towards Saruman, an odd glint it it's incandescent eyes. "My… you're looking awfully nice today, proud old man… care for a nice romp in my den?"

"Normally," Saruman said graciously, "I would like nothing better. But seeing as you are both a dragon and a ghost, I don't think it's quite feasible."

The dragon sat back on its ghostly haunches and began sobbing. "Everyone just HAS to bring that up!"

Saruman waited a few minutes. When the dragon sniffled back it's last few tears, he ventured, "So… what brings a dragon-ghost to Helm's Deep?"

The dragon wiped a large, fiery tear off of his eye. The tear fell to the ground, of course causing no problems, as it was, after all, not really there. "I… liked eating lunch here, very long ago…" It began.

"How can you eat? You're dead." Saruman said, with a certain lack of tact.

The dragon frowned. "I know! But… I kept on trying… but no matter how many times I snapped at the passing Men, they just walked right through me…" He took a bite at a nearby horseman. His jaws passed harmlessly through the man and horse, but the horse spooked, taking off, carrying his rider far, far away. "See?" The dragon asked miserably.

"Yes, I see. Dreadfully sorry, old chap." Saruman said, and was about to continue onwards, when the dragon stopped him.

"Are you SURE you won't take me up on my offer for a nice romp in my caverns?" It asked, once again casting sultry glances at the former-wizard.

"QUITE sure." Saruman said firmly, and walked on.

As the dragon was a ghost, it couldn't stop him, and watched Saruman walk away, fiery tears in it's great, ghostly eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Oboebyrd: Like? Hate? I dunno. Please visit Skyfire's page at http://www.geocities.com/rabid_plotbunny/ This is, after all, her plot-bunny generator!


	2. Accursed Kin!

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The Paper Bag

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Accursed Kin!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. Nor do I own Plot bunnies, which belong solely to SkyFire. She's funny. But don't try to take her plot bunnies without telling her. That's bad. It's stealing. And plot bunnies bite very hard.

Today's Plot bunny: Haldir receives a surprise birthday present from a dead Elf that had been walking in the woods near Weathertop.

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Haldir stood at the fringes of Lothlorien, massaging a stiff neck. He hated the early patrol. He hated the late patrol. He even hated the middle-of-the-day patrol. He especially hated it when he had to do all of them in a row.

Well! There was nothing to do for it now. He had approximately… five minutes before the patrol would be moving on. 

A messenger-Elf ran up to him, identified by his green arm band and look of weariness written all over his normally Elven-fair face. "Package for Haldir, Captain of the Lothlorien guard," Said the tired Elf, waving a small envelope.

"That's me," Haldir said, accepting the envelope from the messenger. The other Elf stumbled in the other direction, yawning broadly.

Haldir investigated the package, and then dubiously opened it. Inside were three small stones, and a letter. He pulled out the letter first. It read:

Dear Haldie-Waldie!

This is your dear uncle Poppy! I've missed you, Haldie! I'm just passing by Weathertop now, and boy is the weather awful! Not only that, but some freak with a torch tried to burn me up! Only after I explained that I was not a black rider… whatever those are… did he apologize and pull the burning torch from my abdomen!   
  
It's scarring horribly! But I'm okay!  
  
Loves and hugs,

Your Dear Uncle Poppy.

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Haldir dropped the letter with a yelp. Then, after a few minutes, he ventured to pick it up again. That COULDN'T be his uncle Poppy… not only was his Uncle Poppy DEAD, he was too incredibly stupid to write.

Haldir investigated the rocks in the package. Maybe they would hold some clue to who sent the mystery package.

They were, much to his surprise, and dismay, the very same type of rocks that his Uncle Poppy used to collect.

Perhaps a coincidence. Poppy did not collect very special rocks. He found pebbles, and declared them rare, and kept them.

Just then, a dead Elf came walking up to him. Despite the fact that he was quite remarkably decomposed, he resembled Haldir's Uncle Poppy down to the last little (though decomposed) detail. "Hi, Haldie-Waldie! I bet you didn't expect me to come for a visit! I brought some board games! We can play for hours! Haldie? Haldie? Where are you going?"

Haldir ran away into the woods.

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Oboebyrd: Funny if you like Haldir a lot, which I do… unnatural, no? Ah well. Once again, visit Skyfire's site at http://www.geocities.com/rabid_plotbunny/ **  
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	3. Ooooo! Goody! A Letter!

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The Paper Bag

Ooooo! Goody! A Letter!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings? Really? Geez, all this time I thought I had exclusive rights… j-k. I don't own the plot bunnies used to create this fics, either. All of the credit goes to Skyfire. Read her fics. She's funny. I hope she appreciates that I'm plugging for her, here…

Today's Plot bunny:Aragorn gets a letter from a homicidal Warg while planting flowers near Mirkwood.

I couldn't resist this one. 

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Aragorn looked up from pressing yet another pretty yellow tulip into the dirt. "Ooo! So adorable!" He cooed happily. 

Here, everyone had said Mirkwood was such a dull, drear place… but after they saw the improvements he had made by planting all these bright flowers, they'd have to agree that Mirkwood was a beautiful forest!  
  
The king of Gondor was so proud of himself! Mirkwood looked so pretty! He was sure Thranduil and Legolas would be happy to see the kingdom so bright and happy!

Aragorn looked up. A butterfly, which had mysteriously appeared when she smelled the flowers, was fluttering around. "Ooo! Butterfly!" Aragorn exclaimed happily.

He danced around and chased after the little butterfly. It stayed tantalizingly out of his reach.

Suddenly, he tripped over something. Aragorn landed face first in some mud. "Pretty mud!" Squealed the king, who was quite obviously not in his right mind.

He turned to see what had tripped him, and found an envelope in the mud. "Oooo… letter!" Aragorn squealed. He picked it up, and opened it.

The king began to read, very slowly and carefully and out loud. He sounded out every word.

"Awwwooooooooo!  
  
Whoever gets this let it be known that the homicidal Warg of has cursed you! Grrrr! You will die soon, mark my words! ENJOY WHAT SHORT TIME LEFT ALIVE YOU HAVE!  
  
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!

AWWOOOOO!!!!!!

Love, the Homicidal Warg." Aragorn read.

A dreamy look came into his eyes. "Isn't that nice?" He cooed. "All this fuss, just over little old me!"

He paused, for with his keen eyes he had spotted a frog in the water. "Frog!" He squealed.

The frog looked at him disdainfully and disappeared into the water.

"Bye!" Aragorn exclaimed, and began hopping around, imitating the amphibian. Then, he skipped away to plant more flowers.

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Oboebyrd: ^_^ Okay, couldn't resist Aragorn acting like a stoned chipmunk. It was too happy of a thought. BTW, visit Skyfire's page: http://www.geocities.com/rabid_plotbunny/ for your very own plot bunny!


	4. What Drunkenness Brings

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The Paper Bag

Let's see what we can pull out of the paper bag today…

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What Drunkenness Brings

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings? Really? Geez, all this time I thought I had exclusive rights… j-k. I don't own the plot bunnies used to create this fics, either. All of the credit goes to Skyfire. Read her fics. She's funny. I hope she appreciates that I'm plugging for her, here…

Today's Plot bunny: Merry is chased by a clumsy Elf-lord while in Bree.

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Merry and Pippin stumbled out of the Prancing Pony. Both were quite pleasantly drunk- with just the right amount of fuzziness to reassure them that, in the morning, they would have smashing headaches. 

"I really- hic!- like that ale, don't you, Merry?" Pippin asked, leaning drunkenly against his friend for support.

  
Merry, who was quite, though not as, drunk as his cousin, was not a very good support. "It's great, 'specially this stuff from Breeeeeeee," The Hobbit agreed, clapping his companion on the shoulder.

Just then, a tall, dark figure walked up to him. He was the very embodiment of grace. With long, lanky limbs, pale features, and bright eyes, it was obviously to all that he was an Elf, and not just any Elf… an Elf-lord! 

The very air quivered and scurried aside as he approached.

Merry and Pippin looked up in surprise as the unidentified Elf-lord approached. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, you can escape your punishment no longer! I have at last come to make you pay for your crimes!"

"My… crimes?" Merry asked, looking clueless.

Pippin glared, slightly cross-eyed at his friend. In a drunken slur, he asked, "What'd'ya do NOW, M-m… what was your name again?"

The Elf-lord started towards him. "Do not play innocent with me!" He roared.

He stepped on the blade of a rake. With the perfection of a well-timed slapstick routine, the handle of the rake snapped up and caught the Elf in the face.

"Ow!" The Elf yelped, from his new position flat-out on the ground.

  
"Let's get out of here!" Merry exclaimed. He started to run, but only managed to zigzag drunkenly across the road.

"Don't… shout so loud…" Pippin protested. "It hurts my head…"

Merry saw that his cousin was obviously not going to be any help.

The Elf-Lord stood, looking severely angry, now. He started towards the staggering Hobbit. "Do not try to escape! I have chased down the stars from their high heaven! I have felled a Balrog with a single blow! I have-" He tripped over a wheel laid against the wall of the building next to him, and landed flat on his face.

"-gotten hit over the head a few too many times, I'd warrant." Merry muttered.

Of course, the Elf-lord heard that, and leaped to his feet, fair face contorted in uncustomary rage. "YOU SHALL DIE FOR THAT!" He exclaimed, drawing his sword.

He took one step forward, and seemed to reconsider. He sheathed his sword. "No…" He thought aloud. "We all remember what happened LAST time…"

"What happened last time?" Pippin asked brightly, then winced, for it hurt his head.

"I don't want to talk about it…" The Elven lord said somewhat quietly, then looked up, his bright eyes burning with a eerie glow. "Back to YOU Hobbit!" He shouted at Merry.

"What'd I do wrong, anyway?" Merry asked, terrified, trying, unsuccessfully, to back and disappear into the side of a building.

"What did you do wrong? What did you do WRONG?" The Elf-Lord roared. 

"Yeah… that's… what I asked." Merry replied a little too worried, scared, and drunk to realize that he was only digging himself in deeper.

"AUGH!" The Elf-Lord roared, leaping at Merry, fair, thin hands curled into horrible claws.

Merry ducked. The graceful Elf-lord ran headlong into the wall.

He slumped to the ground, mumbling incoherent things in Quendi.

"Come on, Pip… let's get out of here before he wakes up." Merry said, dragging his drunk friend down the street.

  
"STOP SHOUTING AT ME! IT HURTS!" Pippin screamed, clutching at his ringing head.

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Oboebyrd: Yeah! That was fun… As always, visit http://www.geocities.com/rabid_plotbunny/ to get some plot bunnies of your very own…


	5. Me, Myself, and Weathertop

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The Paper Bag

Me, Myself, and Weathertop

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, nor plotbunnies, though I do own the stories written as a result of plot bunnies… Skyfire owns the plotbunnies, Tolkien owns LOTR. All I own is a piece of crap keyboard. Space, b, v, n, o, and numerous other keys don't want to work anymore! My finger hurts from pounding on the keys!

Today's Plot bunny: Pippin and Pippin see Weathertop in the spring

(A 'first generation' plot bunny. It was very amusing to me…)

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Pippin walked down the road whistling.

"I'm hungry!" Pippin complained.

"Shut up, Pippin…" Pippin grumbled. "You ate all the food already.

"No, YOU ate all the food, Pip!" Protested Pippin. 

"Same difference." Pippin grumbled.

The first Pippin looked at the sun. "It's been five days. And YOU'VE eaten all the food. We aren't even to Weathertop yet! So much for the picnic…" 

"I THOUGHT we made this clear." Pippin grumbled. "YOU ate more food than me. And besides, the rest of the Fellowship will be there… they'll have brought food. Strider IS a King, after all."

"He couldn't bring enough food to feed YOU." Pippin muttered.

Of course, Pippin heard him. "You eat ten times as much as me!"

"Same amount, probably…" 

"No! I've _watched_!" Protested Pippin. "Pip, you eat everything, and large amounts of it!"

"You should talk…" 

"Yeah, I SHOULD, seeing as you eat WAY more than me. Hey… are you guys coming?" Pippin asked, finally turning around.

A few more Pippins came storming up. "We'd have an easier time if you two didn't race ahead of us! WE have to carry bags of food! Ours are still mostly full!" Pippin protested.

"Scheesh, SORRY!" Pippin replied, looking taken aback. "But don't let Pippin know you have food in there… he might try to eat some."

Pippin looked affronted. "I will NOT! Anyway, YOU ate way more than me!"

A few Pippins started complaining then. "I'm hungry! I'm thirsty! I'm tired! My feet hurt! Can we stop for the night?"

"No, we can not stop for the night." The Pippin-leader of the Pippins said with annoyance. "We're almost there, anyway."

"I can't even see Weathertop on the horizon. How could we be almost there?" Pippin demanded.

"I don't know. I just… feel it."

"Oh, cut out that stupid prophecy stuff. If you actually had that, we wouldn't have gotten into this mess in the first place." Pippin said in annoyance.

"I have the power of prophecy, not Elvish script reading! How was *I* supposed to know what it said?" Pippin demanded.

"Boy, you could have figured it out after one or two of us, but you just STAYED in there…" Pippin said, rolling his eyes.

"He fell asleep! Can you BELIEVE that?"

"Good thing Glorfindel came along to wake him up…"

  
"We could've had thirteen extra brothers!"

Pippin rolled his eyes. "Let's go! Maybe Gandalf will fix me."

"Fix US, you mean." Pippin protested.

"Yeah…" Pippin agreed. "Whatever."

The Pippins resumed their journey. It was then that one of the quieter Pippins spoke up. "Can't wait to see the look of surprise on their faces when WE come ambling up!"

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Oboebyrd: Yeah! That was fun… As always, visit http://www.geocities.com/rabid_plotbunny/ to get some plot bunnies of your very own…


	6. The Day of Help

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The Paper Bag

The Day of Help 

Disclaimer: Wow… writer's block strikes again, and in full force. Not only do I have to rely on Plot-bunnies for story ideas, but I can't even think up a good disclaimer… I own nothing. Does that work? Anyway, visit Skyfire's site, yadda yadda yadda, and NO, I'm not using writer's block as an excuse… really… well, kind of…

Today's Plot Bunny: Gimli writes a letter to a homicidal Orc that likes eating lunch in Bree

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Gimli stuck the end of his pen in his mouth, and then tapped the end against his furry chin. "I should have never signed up for this 'Day of Help' thing…" The Dwarf grumbled.

Legolas looked up from writing a letter to a suicidal Butterfly. "Well, you did, so don't complain about it. It's up to heroes like us to make Middle Earth a better place!"

Gimli stared at his friend for a moment. "Did you have a little too much mead?" The Dwarf ventured. 

Legolas frowned at Gimli, and said archly, "You just can't do it. You Dwarves can't do ANYTHING like this… it should be left to Elves, who are better, and can do anything."

Gimli puffed up his chest, and said, loudly, "We'll see about that, Elf!" He dug back into the letter once again.

Legolas was staring strangely at the Dwarf, not because of Gimli's response, but at how easy it had been to trick him. He shrugged and resumed writing.

Gimli got back to the serious matter of writing. He read the letter once again.

"Dear Day of Help Helpers…

My name is Stuum, and I have a problem. No matter how hard I try, I can't keep from killing things. I just have to kill things all that time. To make it worse, my friends all think it's normal and encourage me. I feel good when I kill things… like beavers and rabbits and small villages… but afterwards I always feel sad, like I did something wrong. Yesterday when I was eating lunch in Bree, I had to run around and kill people, and they won't let me in anymore. I like having lunch at Bree, but I understand why they won't let me in.

Please help.

Love, Stuum, Orc of Mordor."

Gimli nodded. He dipped his pen in ink and began writing.

"Dear Stuum, Orc of Mordor,

As you are an Orc and thus the most villainous scum on the universe, it is only natural that you want to kill things. However, you can curb your needs by punching a rock whenever you want to kill something. Rocks don't care as much as other people. Since you can't kill a rock, you won't feel bad, and you'll get out all your homicidal tensions.

Love, Day of Help Helper."

Gimli put the letter in his 'Out' box and sighed, happily. He had done a good job. He moved on to the letter.

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Next Day

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Gimli had received many more letters. He went through the first few with little or no incident, but then got to a very strange one indeed…

"Dear Day of Help helper,

My friends and I are very upset by your recent letter telling a homicidal Orc to punch a rock whenever he has homicidal tensions. As rocks ourselves, we feel this is a personal attack against us. Please tell us why you feel that rocks have no feelings.

Very much aggrieved,

The Green-striped Talking Rock and associates."

Gimli choked in surprise, then managed to get control of himself. He thought about it for a minute, than began writing.

"Dear Green-striped Talking Rock and Associates…

We all know that only the finest rocks are used in buildings. Since I am certain none of you or your associates want to be used in quarries, the Orc punching you will be a large plus. With a large crack in your side, you will become unattractive to builders, and thus, stay in your homeland.

Love, a Day of Help Helper."

Gimli set down the letter, looking pleased with himself. NOW he was pretty glad that he had signed up to be a Day of Help Helper!

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This has been an advertisement by the Day of Help Program: Helping Middle Earth become aware of their problems. Please call 1-800-HELP-ME1 for your free information booklet on how to join the Day of Help program and become a good helper, just like Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. 

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Oboebyrd: Ouch! Okay… visit Skyfire's site at **http://www.geocities.com/rabid_plotbunny/**

And, if it pleases you, read and review! Ack! I actually said it! I can't believe it… ::Hangs head and sobs:: I gave in… please forgive me… I'm only a fanfiction writer!


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